Bridge Over Troubled Waters

The word that describes my life best - fucked. Every time I try to sort out the good parts from the bad, I always come to the same conclusion. My husband left me almost a year ago. Married years, thank god there were no children. I'd won in the divorce, but I have to work still. I love my job though.

I'd stood on the bridge several other times, usually late at night when I could be alone, watching the city lights sparkling in the waters five hundred feet below and certain death. Again, I walk back to my car. "Fucked," I mutter. Tonight I dressed nicely, even wore clean underwear - black French cut panties, my favorite. The fall probably would have ripped me naked. I often laugh about my mother's admonition to always wear clean underwear in case I get hurt enough to be in an ambulance. She never said I should have my leg amputated, but I sense that need now even more strongly than the clean underwear. God help me, I don't know where that one snuck into my head, but it sure has never left.

"Fucked," I mutter, unlocking the car door.

My cell phone is performing an orgasmic dance on the leather seat. It is Marcy, the closest to a confidant in my life. She started out as Matt then before I met her finished her female body. I'd never been so close to a woman, never kissed one, or necked with one, but for some reason we clicked on a different level. We'd been naked and touched, not going 'all the way'. I was curious what she looked like and compared parts.

"Babycakes," she coos over the phone, her favorite term of endearment for me, and one I now accept more easily than at first. Everyone else just calls me Eva. "Up for a drink?" I nod a few times then agree to meet her at Bernie's, a bar for serious drinking, serving no food. We'd been before. I have fifteen minutes and just sit in the car, letting my life's reruns finish flashing past. It is boring.

She is habitually late and I beat her there by twenty minutes, and have finished my first whiskey, starting on a fresh one. Her hand rubs my back as she kisses my cheek. "So glad," she says, sitting on the stool next to me. She flags the bartender and orders 'whatever she's having'. He nods and holds a thumb up.

"Been to the bridge," I mumble, sipping my drink.

"Not again. Why?"

"You know. It'll never happen."

"The leg?"

I nod then sip a little. "I saw a woman that way today." I sip. "You're so lucky."

"Hardly."

"At least you can have the changes you need. You're happy now. Right?"

"You know I am."

"See." I chug the rest of the drink down in a single gulp then slam the glass down hard. "I need to go."

"Do you want some company?"

"Yes. No. I'm so messed up. I always am after I see someone that's been 'lucky'. Yeah, I know they don't feel that way. That's not the point."

"Lucky, how?"

"You know...." I shake my head and pound a fingertip into my thigh. I stand to leave, put my hand on her shoulder, and peck a small kiss on the lips. "I need to be alone tonight."

"No you don't. Let me come over."

I walk out the door without further comment. Tears stream down my cheeks as I make my way to the car.

"What's wrong?" a woman says.

"I'm having such a bad day. I'll be okay."

"Sure? You look like you need a hug or something."

I chuckle. "Thanks. I need a lot more than that."

I get into my car and drive away. The sobs continue like a heavy rain. I wipe my eyes with tissue after tissue without much help. I drive up Third to Elm and over two blocks. It is late and the streets deserted. Waiting for the light to change, a woman walks from a side street using crutches because she has one leg.

"Shit!" I curse aloud, pounding the steering wheel once, then again.

I pull to the curb and park in front of a department store. I get out and fake being interested in the clothing display in the large window, keeping her in sight out the corner of my eye, still half a block away. She sees me and pauses, almost turning away.

"Hello," I call with a slight wave, not knowing where I found the courage to say or do anything.

"Yes?" she says. Her voice is soft and unsure. I have a feeling she is uncomfortable since we are the only people out now.

I approach the woman wearing a loose dress hanging past her knee. I can't tell much about her in the dim lighting. "Excuse me." I am closer now and see she is about my age, not overly attractive, but pretty. "I'm Eva...." I struggle to finish the sentence.

"Hi, I'm Karen. Not many people out tonight." I can tell she is as nervous as I am about meeting.

"No. It's nice out though, even a full moon." I take a long look staring at the face and quickly scanning down to the hem of the dress. There is a bulge near the knee, as if something like her stump presses forward against the fabric.

"I didn't expect to find anyone. Usually I don't when I, ah, come down here late at night."

"Because of your leg?"

"Not something I talk about."

"I think I understand. I have my secrets too."

She moves some, stopping in front of the same window, looking at her reflection. I notice her skirt sticks out behind the hip and begin to realize she is faking that she is missing a leg.

"I pretend too."

"Pretend what?" She keeps her eyes forward, never quite looking at me.

"Never mind. I understand how it feels to want that."

I walk towards my car and sit with the window rolled down, my hand on the keys in the ignition for a long moment, and then start the engine. I continue to watch the woman looking at her reflection.

"No way. I've pointed out a few amputees and he always makes disparaging remarks. I know he'd hate me."

"Does he know you're out here?"

"Nah, business trip for a few days. My chance to pretend." She looks around, spotting a bench nearby. "It's about time I need to unbind my leg though."

She half sits, pulling the dress up. "Let me," I whisper, reaching out to begin unwrapping the elastic bandage. Finished, she stretches the leg out, and rolls the ankle a few times. "Hurts like hell, mine does, when I unbind it." I rub the lower leg.

"I can tell you understand."

"I don't know why we feel this way, guess no one does. At least I can relate enough to appreciate what you are going through. Sucks, doesn't it?"

"Yeah." She nods her head a few times, looking at me, studying my features I assume. "I wish Harold did. It'd be nice to have someone to pretend with, fantasize about what it'd be like if it really happened."

"Pillow talk about stumps, work that into a little sex."

She takes my hand and holds it, rubbing it between hers. "Uh-huh."

We watch each other, our faces close, and our breath blowing softly over each other. I sense a kindred soul, someone I could be close with and talk about personal things. Lost in those thoughts, I feel her lips on mine for a moment.

"You have nice lips," she says.

I remember the first kisses with Marcy. I told myself that because she had been born a man, it was okay, that it was a man kissing me. Her body and behavior betrayed that reasoning. After a while, it didn't matter, the kisses were good and satisfied a need I had. Even the touches over our bodies became like the kisses - satisfying a need.

I lean closer and kiss Karen, small pecks, a little tongue, and find she fells a need too. "Hmmm, nice, kisses."

"I'm not a lesbian," she says, sounding more as if she is trying to convince herself than me.

"Maybe we wish we were."

"I don't...don't know." She nibbles her lower lip suggestively.

I give her a similar kiss as before. "For some reason, it feels 'right'." I kiss her gently again.

"Not really. I have a friend that is now a woman, was a man, and we have 'made out' a few times." I chuckle.

"Transgendered?"

"Post-op. She looks and feels as good as me."

"I can't. Not tonight...." She kisses me with more passion for a moment, her tongue in my mouth most of the time. She sits back up and drags a hand over my chest. "But I'd like to."

"Maybe we could pretend together."

"Harold won't be back for two more nights." She shrugs.

"Do you know where Sadie's Restaurant is?" She nods. "Lets have dinner tomorrow. I'll have my crutches in the car. We can walk around here afterwards."

"Yes. I want too."

-

The rest of the night, I am on fire. All I think about is having one leg, pretending, and Karen. I pleasure myself often, even finding release a few times. The next morning I fidget at my desk getting little accomplished. It's been this way a few weeks. I remember the woman with one leg I had seen yesterday and consider if I might see her again. I know precisely where she was and at what time, the details chiseled into my mind. Some people are creatures of habit and maybe she is. I look at the clock and have just enough time.

The intersection is large, people allowed to cross in both directions at once. It is hard to see everyone. I'm sure I miss more than I see. Not long after arriving, I see her, alone, walking with her crutches. Her knee-length dress hides how much of the left leg is missing, but she is nice looking and is at least missing a leg.

I stand out of the crowd, watching eagerly. Her movements are graceful and deft, as though a long time since the loss. I wonder what happened and how she feels. For a moment of fantasy, I imagine she begged the doctor to amputate. I would.

"Hi," the voice says.

The fantasy ends and I realize she is in front of me, inches away. "Hope I wasn't staring," I say, not having any other words handy.

"I'm on the way to lunch. Join me. I'm sure we have some common interests."

She points at a diner in the middle of the block and we walk there side by side, bouncing off other people walking towards us on the narrow sidewalk. After glancing at the menu and ordering, she spends a long moment looking at my face. I do likewise.

"Not many watch me that way," she says.

"Sorry."

"No, don't be. I somehow expected more people to watch, at least stare. I like the attention, might as well get something out of having one leg." She chuckles.

"Has it been long?"

"To be brutally honest, not long enough." She smiles. "Damn leg," she mutters under her breath.

I know what she said and probably understand what she meant. "Had you not wanted the leg?"

"Goodness, no. For a long time, I'd imagined myself like this." She pauses, wrinkling her forehead in puzzlement. "Does that sound queer? I don't know what brought on this moment of honesty. Sorry if I offended you."

"If we'd had this conversation yesterday, I wouldn't have had to go to the bridge." I groan.

"Oh, the bridge. I've been there, maybe not the same one, but 'to the bridge'." The way she said it seems to mean she had wanted to end it.

"These are fucked up feelings."

"Tell me about it." She takes my hand softly for a moment, nodding.

The sandwiches arrive as I gather my courage. I sip my iced tea. "Probably a lot like you. Don't want the leg and no way to have it happen. I pretend, but that doesn't help anymore. If I'm off base...."

"So damn close, it hurts."

"Why are we just meeting? I've felt so alone forever."

"Just the way life works, I guess." We eat a few bites. "I had it off two years ago, just moved here recently."

"How much?"

"Most of it, a few inches left." She chews and swallows. "There was a waiting list and I just got mine done before they stopped."

"I happened to meet a woman late last night who was on crutches pretending downtown. I stopped at a red light and there she was. We talked for a while. We're having dinner tonight, want to join us?"

"You seeing anyone?" Loren asks. Her hand rests on mine. "I'd like to get to know you." She blows me a kiss from puckered lips. "Maybe after dinner, just the two of us."

A woman had never propositioned me, but the spell this one has me under is overwhelming. I nod a few times, feeling my heat rise and my panties becoming damp. I take her hand and kiss it a few times, then suck a finger suggestively.

-

We wait outside Sadie's Restaurant for fifteen minutes past when Karen promised to meet. She does not come and there is no way to contact her. Having assumed she'd show, I had not bothered exchanging phone numbers. I look at Loren and shrug.

"Guess it just the two of us," she says. She takes my hand, whispering with a grin, "Darn."

"Yeah, darn." I flash her a big smile.

"I live a few blocks from here. We could order takeout."

She squeezes my hand and kisses me briefly. A few more buttons are unfastened on her dress than at lunch and the view into her cleavage is welcoming. I feel my heart racing like a horny teenager.

"Great idea," I finally say.

Out of the elevator on the top floor, we stand in a private foyer while she unlocks the door. "It's not much," she explains. "I didn't expect company, so things are a mess."

"God, you should see mine. It's trashed right now."

We walk into an immaculately clean, large loft, three times the size of my apartment. There are high ceilings with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the river and tall buildings across it. The lights sparkle like the view from an airplane flying over a city. The furniture and decorations are tasteful and carefully arranged. Original paintings and photographs I have only seen in books hang on the walls. Everything screams money.

"Very nice," I say, walking to one of the tall windows and looking out. "Very nice."

She is leaning against my back, kissing my neck. A hand slips around my waist and holds my stomach.

"Glad you could be here. Few understand our need. I haven't felt this close to any."

Her hand explores my chest, rubbing a breast expertly over my blouse. There is no resistance from me. I willingly shift position enough to move the other breasts into reach. Before long, I twist in her arms and let our lips come together. She ravages my mouth, her tongue visiting deeply. I hear her pant as she begins to grind against me. Crutches clatter to the floor.

"Love has eluded me," she whispers. "I'm feeling hopeful."

"Me too," I coo, leaning my forehead against hers, staring across her face.

I wonder how many other women have stood in my place - or men. What craziness would prevent such a lovely woman from having a line around the block waiting to hold her? Now, I don't care that I am not the first or that I'm falling for a woman. I take her mouth and caress her back, her hip, and let my hand slide over the short stump hidden away.

"It'd feel better if you reach under the skirt," she teases.

I find only bare skin and a waxed mound as I explore. My hand massages the stump, leaving her slit for a few minutes. She moves the soft piece of thigh about my palm, teasing me. I withdraw my hand over her slit, dragging a finger through the wetness. Sucking the digit playfully, I sigh then smile, still sucking.

"I know where I'll be," I coo.

"I plan to be all over your pussy, for years to come."

I can tell she lets her emotions race ahead of reality as I have at the start of a relationship. Only now, I can see something developing besides a one-night fling in bed.

"Should we order or get naked?"

She chuckles then hops to the couch a few steps away. The crutches remain in place as though not needed. I follow, sitting close, pulling her against my shoulder. The buttons fall free easily and I grip a breast, rolling the firm mound about under my palm. The nipple grows erect.

"I'm glad I didn't have big breasts," she whispers, her head firmly against my neck.

"They're exactly the right size. Mine are smaller, maybe too small."

She opens my blouse and feels tenderly about, strumming a nipple with a fingertip. "Perfect."

For a while, we undress the other, kissing newly uncovered places to excess, then proceeding until we are naked with no place un-kissed. She fondles her stump, squeezing and massaging it into different shapes as if tempting me.

"Careful," I say.

"Why, what'cha goin' to do?" She snickers, still rubbing. "I often find I can't stop touching it. I'm afraid one day in public I'll realize I have my skirt up with it exposed while I busily rub." She laughs.

"Such a hardship."

"Only someone like you would understand. I love that about you."

I glance over at the large bed in an open area that seems to create a bedroom without walls. There's a dresser, a small sitting area, and a closet along the one wall. An opened wide door leads to the bathroom. From what I see, there is a marbled counter with two sinks and tiled walls. I suspect a large tiled shower hides there.

"Oh-h, yeah-h," I moan, not wanting her to stop anytime soon. "Keep...." I grip her wrist, pumping the hand whose fingers fill me. "Oh-h, oh," I moan. "So-o many orgasms bottled up in there."

"Lets get you in bed so we can take our time."

Reluctantly, I let her fingers out. I flash a big smile then stand, offering her a hand. She hops beside me, arm around my waist. We fall together across the bed - faces locked together, a hand all over her stump in excited touches.

"You thrill me," she whispers in my ear, her lips sucking the earlobe. "I can't believe we found each other."

"Heavenly."

She nibbles down my body then across my mound, fingers already inside. I willingly give myself to her, lost in the pending climax, my legs splayed. I deliciously memorize the motions, eager to do the same for her, my first oral experience with a woman. I quickly race though more than the usual climaxes offered so reluctantly by former boyfriends - usually cock in pussy fashion. My sounds - moans and groans - are sometimes loud. She does not suggest I be quiet so I continue being vocal since doing so adds to my own excitement.

"If I didn't have any legs...." I chuckle.

"Then, I'd 'never' let you out of bed."

"Temp me."

She moves beside me, taking my mouth for a while, a hand strolling over me.